


Putting Down Roots

by stopcallingmeapollo (GayMarauders)



Series: Mythology AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Fluff, M/M, Siren!Enjolras, nymph!grantaire, there's crying but it's all good i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 04:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayMarauders/pseuds/stopcallingmeapollo
Summary: Enjolras comes home to Grantaire for the first time, but he's in for a bit of a surprise...





	Putting Down Roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adorablecrab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorablecrab/gifts).



Enjolras comes home to  _their_ apartment for the first time on a Tuesday. They’d slept there together the night before, but that had been after moving–they set the final box by the door and tumbled down onto the mattress on the floor, the little bonzai on the windowsill looking rather droopy as R pressed a kiss to the tip of Enj’s nose and quickly fell asleep. This is the first time Enjolras has  _come home_ to R, the first time he has finished class for the day knowing that the man he loves will be waiting when he gets back to his apartment.  _Our apartment._

He opens the door and takes a deep breath, about to call out some sappy greeting, when the scene in front of him registers. The floor is covered in a fine layer of dirt, and roots have grown along the wall by the door, leading–ostensibly–to something that has grown in the kitchen. The bonzai has grown substantially, too, blocking out most of the evening light that should be coming in through the window. He hears the clatter of metal on stone as something hits the countertop in the kitchen and freezes.

“Grantaire? Are you alright?”

“Enjolras!” Grantaire’s slightly panicky voice precedes his head as it pops into view around the corner leading to the kitchen. “Everything is under control, I’ve just, er, had some slight…growing…issues, I’m looking for the shears. Don’t come in here.”

Enjolras, contrary as ever at the sound of a direct order from his partner, unfreezes and marches into the kitchen. There, where the table might have stood once they had one, is a small oak tree.

“What in Zeus’ na–”

“It’s nothing, this happens, or it used to, it’s been a while…”

“That’s a tree.”

“…Yes.”

“In our apartment.”

“Yes, but–”

“There is a tree in our kitchen.”

Grantaire is about to open his mouth and respond when leaves suddenly begin to unfurl on the tree.

“Grantaire, are you alright? Are you sick?” Enjolras asks, concern suddenly colouring his voice as he turns to his partner. “I’ve only seen you do something like this when you were really emotional.”

“Erm. Well. I am,” Grantaire says, and then rushes to soothe Enjolras’s growing anxiety. “In a good way! You left for class and I was just sitting here setting up some shelves and thinking about…well, about  _us,_ and how secure I feel in our relationship, and how a year ago I never would have expected this, and then…well…” he gestures at the oak, which is now as solid and green as one could really hope for an oak that has lived in an apartment for its 10 hour life to be. “Oak trees are a sign of stability and consistency. I guess I just haven’t felt that in a long time and it…overwhelmed me a bit.”

Enjolras bites his lip for a moment as he stares up at the oak. After a moment, Grantaire realizes there are tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Are you ok, mon ange?” He steps forward, wrapping his arms around Enjolras and letting him press his wet face against the soft, stained shirt he usually wears to paint or work with plants. Enjolras sniffles a little and then speaks, his voice muffled.

“I’m just so happy I could make you feel like that,” he says softly, his voice clear and plain and without a trace of melody, as it always is when he says something important. “I want to make you feel secure and loved, always.”

“You do, love. Always.” They stand like that for a while, R’s chin resting atop Enj’s head, until the shorter man breaks the silence.

“R, you know we can’t keep the tree, right?”

“Why not?”

“We live on the second floor, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for my good friend/collaborator deboracabral/adorablecrab on tumblr! Check out my blog for more snippets and to request more fics!


End file.
